


Gone

by dysphorie



Series: drabble drabble, bitch bitch [6]
Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Biting, Come as Lube, Crying, Grief/Mourning, Kinda but not really but kinda, M/M, No Lube, Notfic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Spit As Lube, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysphorie/pseuds/dysphorie
Summary: "I know about the scars on your arms..."Or, grief does strange things to people
Relationships: Jim Root/Corey Taylor
Series: drabble drabble, bitch bitch [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1488107
Comments: 20
Kudos: 37





	Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Just a porny notficcy drabble I wanted to get out of my head while I'm musing on the nature of grief, loss, and how we cope with such things.

His hands are shaking so hard he can barely get his belt undone, panic or need or whatever Jim's refusing to acknowledge buzzing through his fingers, and he's mumbling instructions to Corey through gritted teeth as he tries to peel off his jeans and kick off his Vans at the same time. Corey stumbles over his own feet on the way to the bedroom, completely wrong-footed since Jim slammed the front door open, grabbed his face in a bruising grip, and kissed him til his head spun. 

He has no idea what's happening  _ (neither does Jim, he's out of control).  _ Rough hands push Corey down on the sad grey sheets, losing patience, losing his mind, jeans forgotten around his knees like a horny teenager too eager to get undressed. The light in the bedroom is ghostly. Ironic.

Shaking his hair from his eyes, Jim looks up. Corey's peering over at him, questions in his blue eyes that he knows not to ask cos he knows Jim wont answer. Ass up, chest down.

Already in position but it's not right. Not what Jim wants  _ (not that he knows what he wants) _ . He's too pretty, too smooth and clean and Jim doesn't deserve him but he's going to take him anyway. Kneeing up onto the bed behind him, Jim grabs Corey's hips  _ (too hard, too rough, he doesn't care) _ , hauling him back against his mouth. There's no finesse; Jim licks into Corey like he's dying, barely pausing to wet the finger he pushes in. When he whines in protest Jim doesn't even remove his mouth before he brings his other hand down on Corey's ass  _ (the vibrations hurt his teeth. Good). _

The " _ Ow, fuck _ -" dies in Corey's throat with a gasp as Jim pulls back and bites down on one asscheek before hissing at him to shut up, licking and peppering kisses on the mark then diving back between those cheeks. Driving another finger in alongside the first. Making him jerk in surprise. Jim doesn't want to hurt Corey; he loves Corey, goes out of his way to ensure nothing will ever hurt him again. He just can't conceptualize his feelings right now in any way other than hunger; a burning need to devour Corey to satisfy the gnawing emptiness in his gut. And he can't do that if he has Corey crying in his ear, because then Jim will break down and start crying, and he can't have that. What he needs is distraction, a way to vent, release the pressure building up in his body and brain. Relief through release.

_ God,  _ Corey tastes good. Even completely unprepared, he's delicious and Jim never wants to stop tracing his opening with the tip of his tongue but there's no time for niceness. There's only time for a third finger and a desperate prayer to Jim's salivary glands  _ (this is going to hurt. Who will it hurt more? Does it matter?). _ He pulls his fingers out and spits twice: one into his own hand, sighing as he lubes his length, and o nce straight onto Corey's hole, rubbing the viscous fluid in with the head of his dick. Corey doesn't make a noise, but Jim feels his entire body sigh.

There's no other foreplay. Jim's pushing in and Corey's fingers are fisting into the rough cheap sheets, and Jim pushing Corey hard against those sheets with one hand between his shoulder blades. There's no build-up. Straight away and again and again Jim slaps into Corey hard  _ (merciless and fuck he's so fucked and he shouldn't be doing this, Corey doesn't deserve this but Jim needs to destroy something so it might as well be this), _ and Corey's moaning again just as hard, these stuttered little gasps that break Jim's heart over and over. The sound hits Jim's ears like nails on a chalkboard. This isn't supposed to be good. He knows this must hurt. His dick feels sticky and there's practically no slide but he thrusts regardless. Just trying to fuck the pain away.

It  _ is  _ good though. Too good. Better than Jim deserves because Corey's better than he deserves but he's here, sweaty under Jim's palms and hot and tight around his dick. It's spectacular. Usually by now Jim would be pulling out to let his come blast up Corey's back, to relish watching it coat his tattoos and run down his ribs. He's so so fucking close though  _ (so fucking close to his mind being blown so wide open he can't think, can't feel, can't care). _

But he can't come. The feeling is there and he's right on the precipice but he can't come, and he knows it's because he doesn't deserve it and because Corey just wont shut the fuck up. Taking his hand from between his shoulders and fisting it into those sweaty tendrils, trying to ignore the way the nausea building in the pit of his stomach bubbles when Corey rolls needily into the touch, Jim yanks him up.  _ Hard. _ His gasp turns into a cry of pain and pleasure as Jim sinks his teeth into his neck, biting into the tattoo like a bullseye.

"Shut the fuck up.  _ Now." _ The words roll out of Jim's mouth, laced with bile and anger he doesn't mean, and he pushes Corey back down into the pillow before he can see the tears threatening to spill out of Jim's eyes. 

Corey, to his credit, does as he's told, teeth biting firmly into lips already swollen. It's enough. He's still whimpering but Jim can deal with that. The way his heart seems to be thumping in his fucking throat nearly drowns it out anyway. Gritting his teeth so hard his jaw aches, Jim resumes his savage pace. Fucking into Corey with loud slaps and low grunts. Relishing the way he can actually feel his hole swelling and puffing up. It must be sore. It must ache. Jim doesn't care. It's nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

He still can't come. He. Still. Can't. Come. His knees hurt. The muscles of his back burn. The tightness in his groin is so strong it's distracting. He grabs onto Corey's shoulders for extra leverage, pretending he didn't see the pillowcase clamped between Corey's teeth, damp with tears, and slams in as hard as he can. A growl of frustration leaks out because he wants so fucking much to fall apart, to let it all go and just fucking release everything.

But Jim can't break, no matter how much he wishes he could. So he needs to break something  _ (someone). _

Then Corey sobs, chokes out a broken barely there  _ "Please,"  _ and Jim's vision blurs as his hips jerk and still and he comes with a shocked wheeze. Just still for a second though, before he pummels in a few more times, just to fuck himself through it, just to feel the burn of overstimulation and the ache of being on the verge of ruining his own orgasm. There's no stopping the tears that burn his eyes before pattering onto Corey's heated skin, but neither of them notice. Neither of them care.

By the time Jim's stopped shaking and pulled out, he barely has enough energy to do more than twist to collapse down on his back. Corey's similarly boneless, flat on his belly now, panting softly. He doesn't look at Jim. Jim doesn't look at Corey.

"Did you come?" Jim asks, voice cracking.

"Does it matter?"

_ Does it matter? _ Jim actually has to think for a minute. 

The bedclothes stick to his clammy skin as he rolls over, pulling Corey up and against him. There's almost no resistance. Then slowly, gently, he slides a hand down, down Corey's side, over the sway of his hip, around the curve of his ass to slide between his thighs. Thighs and ass, still coated in Jim's come that's still leaking out. Scooping up as much as he can, he reaches around to cup Corey's slightly softened dick. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sloppy contact, slowly melting into a wheezy sigh as Jim starts to slide his hand up and down, lubing him up and pulling him back to full hardness.

"Yeah," he whispers, "yeah, it matters."

**Author's Note:**

> dysphorie-dot-png.tumblr.com


End file.
